


Negativity

by kleptoandpyro



Category: Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Larry and Cliff are bad at feelings, Larry whump, M/M, Team as Family, Useless Cliff, Useless Larry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 23:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18271490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleptoandpyro/pseuds/kleptoandpyro
Summary: What a lot of people didn’t realise was that, releasing the Negative Spirit hurt...or at least, it had.





	Negativity

**Author's Note:**

> I had actually started writing this after episode one of Doom Patrol aired but it took me til now to articulate the idea. What can I say, I'm almost as useless as these two.

What a lot of people didn’t realise was that, releasing the Negative Spirit hurt.

Not because of the sensation of your atoms losing their energy - that splitting, white cold tearing feeling of your body rendered instantly cold; your muscles contracting, blood stilling in your veins and all your synapses coming to a dead stop - a-not-quite-death, being the technical term.

Although, for the record, that separation was more of a strange whooshing euphoria - like taking the leap off a high ledge; stinging like electric yet numbing as if from plunging your body into ice water.

No, it was what happened afterwards.

Namely, the ground; that solid immovable floor, which Larry had become intimately involved with over the years, that caused the problems. Because whenever it happened, whenever the Spirit decided to tap out, he was always unprepared; stood up, running or tensing hard to try and hold the thing inside him by any means possible...and years of falling like sack of meal to the floor was getting real old, real fast.

And he’d always land on a damn rock or paving slabs, or on a slight incline so, when he came to, all the blood would be pooled in his head and he’d need five minutes to come back from Mars.

He’d pick himself up, with a silent groan, brush down his coat and go on like he was fine but the damage would already be done; his jaw would already be throbbing or his ankles twisted.

He couldn’t see the bruises, his body was too damaged already; purple on purple was kinda hard to pick out. But he could feel them; sometimes for weeks after he’d got them.

Or if not those, then it would be his neck screaming at him from his head lolling heavily to the side, producing what would become the worst crick known to mankind when he came to.

The Chief was an observant man and Larry could feel his eyes on him sometimes; he’d catch him watching him walking, well, _limping_ , after a particularly nasty knock to the hip or a heavy drop straight to his knees.

_“Are you alright, Larry?”_

_“Fine, Chief.”_

The only upside to wearing his bandages was that it was fairly easy to fake the sound of a smile. Not that the Chief would believe him, because who would be positive after continually falling to their ass like an infant learning to walk.

Niles would always pause, thinking on how to try a different angle.

_“Can I at least give you something, for the swelling?”_

_“I’m fine.”_

And he was. After a while. Before it inevitably happened again. Time after time.

Sometimes he felt like the Spirit was doing it on purpose; the constant punishment for his past transgressions. Or maybe it was its own personal way of trying to get Larry some attention. _Like he wanted any._

Rita was perhaps the only exception to that. Someone who he was okay with pulling him back to his feet again; giving him a little TLC. She, like him, understood what it was like to have that loss of control, that desire to hide the pain and pretend and run away from it all. She didn’t generally offer more than a concerned look and a helping hand and a positive conversational deflection afterwards, but it was something; and he appreciated it, in a modest way.

The point of the matter was: Whatever the cause, or the way it happened, or whoever was there to see it, it had always hurt.

At least...it _had._ _Had_ being the key word. Because after _he_ showed up, it sorta...didn’t. At least, not in the same way.

Cliff was a knucklehead, so it was fortunate the guy had a heart big enough to compensate. A man turned robot...man, Larry kinda enjoyed having another adrenaline junkie around the house; someone he could kinda relate to and gave him some sense of past normalcy cussing and talking high powered machines like the pilots did back in the day.

His physical therapy was long and arduous and tempers ran hot for a while but Larry actually found that in helping Cliff get to his feet, he tended to stay on his own more often; his mind more focussed on another person’s problems rather than his own. A kind of welcome distraction.

And Cliff responded well to challenges; it seemed to motivate him when he had ‘slow days’.

_“Hey Tutankhamun, pass me the remote.”_

_“I thought hair dryers were supposed to be pretty mobile nowadays.”_

_“Do I look like I got buttons and a fan to you?”_

_“You certainly blow a lot of hot air.”_

_“Hold that thought.”_

But that wasn’t the whole story.

Once they were shoulder to shoulder, figuratively speaking, and Larry wasn’t required as the antagonistic pain in the ass that got Cliff itching to get to his feet and unwrap him where he stood, Larry found the Spirit got...restless once more.

How a being made of pure energy got antsy, he didn’t understand, but that was the best way he could think about it.

And an antsy Energy Being meant Larry toppling like a jenga tower once more, over and over again...in front of Cliff.

Something Larry _hated_.

The guy may be a brain in a metal suit but he was still strong and capable, a piece of scrap metal and baggage that had turned into a real rock of a man. Larry had always despised people seeing him so defenseless but around Cliff it was worse, their differences illuminated; where once _he_ was the able bodied one, in a manner of speaking, he now felt like a newborn fawn stood next to a pick up truck.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, whenever Cliff was there, he always awoke without the bangs and scrapes. It was like it had never happened. It both infuriated and puzzled the hell out of Larry.

Why was it different? Was the Spirit just being extra hard on him the whole time he was alone, then when this guy shows up suddenly his well being mattered? A gentler evacuation from his body to make him look less pathetic in front of competition? Was _that_ what this was - a pissing contest?

It didn’t really matter in the grand scheme, however, because even when the bruises started to fade, he found that his original dilemma still held up: Releasing the Negative Spirit always hurt. Because the ‘hurt’ hadn’t gone anywhere; only changed state.

He’d feel the buzzing beneath his chest, the thrum of the being collecting itself around his heart, flash of white, his breath gone, then his eyes would open a minute later and he’d be flat on his back, _always_ flat on his back, just conscious in time for the _comment._

A knock to his bones was one thing, but when his insecurities flared up it was a torture like no other.

_“We should get you an inflatable vest.”_

_“Maybe we could rent a bounce house. Sure the Chief wouldn’t mind.”_

_“Atish you, atish you, we all fall- Oh, you beat me to it.”_

_“Wonder how much it would cost to install a ground trampoline, sure there’s a place around here somewhere.”_

Larry could only stand so much - pun not intended. His brand of explosion was more a swift and purposeful exodus from the situation, but eventually - like the energy being bursting out of his body - he unloaded.

“HA HA, OH YEAH, HILARIOUS! LARRY FALLS OVER AGAIN, LET’S ALL HAVE A GOOD LAUGH.”

It was impossible to read Cliff, his metal face a blank canvas of emotion, and apparently this just proved to piss off Larry even more when a) he realised this was what he must look like, and b) all he got in return was a motorised blink.

“LET’S THROW LARRY UNDER THE BUS, BECAUSE IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT _I’M_ A FREAK TOO, _I_ NEED SOME WAY TO FEEL BETTER ABOUT _MY_ SELF.”

The birdsong and gentle breeze of the calm summer day was such a juxtaposition to the storm beneath his bandages, that he almost lost momentum. And the jabs to Cliff’s chest for emphasis were probably unnecessary.

“Dude-”

“You know what, Cliff? Save it. I honestly thought you were better than this, that a guy who’d gone through hell would understand what suffering and ridicule and segregation was. But I guess I was wrong. You may be just a brain in a can, but I never thought you could be heartless, too.”

It felt good to slam the door after him, to stride past the Chief wheeling himself through the corridors with strong posture and purposeful steps rather than the stiff and damaged man he usually was.

However, it didn’t feel good to sit idly preening his plants, alone with his thoughts, hours later. He couldn’t even find peace in the one thing that never failed to deliver it. Just another thing to torment him, apparently.

When the door opened behind him, he didn't even turn to look.

“That one could use a watering,” eventually came an eloquent voice behind him.

He let out a sigh and raised his head up from his forearms. “It’s a cactus; they don’t need watered very often.”

He turned to face Rita. She had taken off her oversized sunglasses and was looking at him critically, as if about to comment on his posture or suggest he smile more for his wide-shot.

“This isn’t like you, Larry. Yelling at people’s faces and storming off. Not like you at all.”

He turned back to the window and continued his campaign of looking pathetically at the world beyond. “He had it coming.”

“For once I disagree.”

He turned again. Sometimes he forgot that his glares were lost on people but it didn’t stop him from trying. “Then we appear to be talking about different people. I get enough crap from regular people about... _this_ ,” he said gesturing to himself, “I don’t need it coming from inside these walls too. I thought everyone inside this manor were on the same side, but I guess once an asshole, always an asshole.”

He could hear her scoff, “ _Men,”_ under her breath and Larry didn’t think he was in the mood to hear one of her tirades on his gender right now.

But it didn’t come; he could admit that Rita had gotten very adept at reading him over the years and she could usually tell when he was amicable enough to take her preferred brand of blunt counselling. Apparently, judging by the hesitation, she was going with another avenue instead. Although the giant sigh he’d just let out might’ve helped her decision there.

“Fine, continue to sit here in your little pity palace and stare forlornly at the world beyond. A world full of _people_ ...Some people with far _greater_ physical deformities than you or I...or lack thereof in this case...”

But just because Rita was good at reading Larry did not mean it went both ways.

“...And yet who still manage to _lessen the blow_ of other’s... _problems_. At times even taking the problems and laying them _lovingly on the ground_ rather than letting them fall flat to the Earth like a popped balloon-”

“What on _Earth_ are you talking about.”

“ _You_ , Larry, and your misplaced ire!"

Then it clicked. “Since when do you defend, _Cliff?_ I have literally heard you lambast every single one of his ancestors for-”

Then Larry froze mid-sentence, the last thing she said finally catching up with him. “...What do you mean, ‘laying them lovingly on the ground?’”

Rita’s eyes dropped to her gloved hands and she inspected fingernails which she couldn’t’ve possibly seen; like she was about to admit to something slightly out of her comfort zone. “...Do not get me wrong, the man has his flaws, _many many flaws_ , almost too many to reasonably count-”

Larry almost rolled eyes and decided to just wait her out.

“-but despite being an ‘asshole’ it seems that he does care...in his own crude and hamfisted manner.”

She decided not to wait for Larry to finish his musings, instead brightening in an instant and proceeding to put back on her sunglasses.

“Anyway, it is a beautiful day and I am not going to spend one more moment in this dark cave. I think some lemonade in the sunshine is in order. When you’ve finished moping, come join me.” And just like that she was gone in a flurry of sundress. The door shut behind her.

He continued to stare at nothing for a long few moments after she left; his mind unwinding. ‘Scathing comments’ now didn’t really feel more than jabs, ‘degrading insults’ and ‘bullying’ now transforming in his mind’s eye into friendly ball-breaking digs between friends.

He tipped his head back and sighed at the heavens.

* * *

 “I’m an asshole.” It was a good opener if anything.

Cliff was roughly in the same spot outside that Larry had stormed off from earlier, doing something under the hood of the bus. He could see Rita sat on the picnic bench not too far away mixing cocktails under an umbrella; the sunglasses made it hard to tell if she was listening but he’d bet anything she was. Jane was nowhere to be seen; that was fine, it was probably best that they weren’t interrupted.

Cliff turned to look at Larry, all neutral metal face and emotionless red eyes before looking back at whatever was broken, and for a second Larry didn’t want to admit that he felt some trepidation at what the guy’s reaction was going to be...that is until the, “Hi an asshole, I’m Cliff,” came out of his face.

Larry relaxed ever so slightly, and resisted the urge to scoff. “Kay, walked into that one.”

He approached the other man, slightly wringing his hands. He wasn’t good at these sorts of things, especially when it was he that needed to do the sorry-ing. His marriage could attest to that. “I wanted to apologise.”

The mechanical sounds carried on without pause. So he continued.

“I...may have overreacted earlier, said some things I shouldn’t have, especially since I...didn’t have all the facts at hand.”

And for the first time since his outburst, Larry actually pictured that image in his mind’s eye: His body crumpling, the other man reacting in an instant - even stopping mid conversation -  Cliff’s large hands slipping beneath his limp shoulders, maybe the small of his back, guiding him to the ground, supporting his neck-

It was an intimate response, and one which he hadn’t expected from the likes of Cliff; and it made him feel all the more guilty over his words after picturing it.

The tinkering noises slowed but didn’t cease.

“The truth of the matter is, despite being like _this_ for about 60 years, I’m never going to be fully used to it, and sometimes it’s easy to fall on the defensive. But mainly I forget that we’ve all been through the fire and flames and having a sense of humor is a good remedy. I lashed out at you and I’m sorry.”

The sound of a wrench being put down signalled Cliff’s completion at whatever the hell he was doing. He stepped back and shut the hood, revealing him in all his bronzed glory. He tossed an oily rag atop the lid and regarded Larry properly before turning to the bus windshield.

“Fire ‘er up, kid.”

And Larry was taken aback to see Jane sat in the driver’s seat just before the bus roared into life...literally. There was a loud explosion, someone yelling, “FUCK!” a whooshing, plunging sensation in his chest, then nothing.

When Larry awoke he was peering at a calm blue sky, the sun warm on his bandages, his body floating.

_Floating?_

“Sorry, you crumpled next to the bus, had to get you clear of the fire,” confirmed a mechanical voice just next to his right ear.

In that moment, after getting his bearings, Larry didn’t know what was more concerning, a) that the negative spirit freaks out with loud noises, b) their only mode of transportation was toast, c) the only one of them with any mechanical skills had caused it, d) Jane was dancing around the flames, e) the only one of them with any common sense was attempting to throw the _alcoholic cocktails_ she had made on it to douse said flames or f) that he was being held bridal style while all this was going on.

_At least his plants weren’t on it._

“So uh, about earlier,” started Cliff, “about the whole, y’know,” and he shook Larry slightly as he attempted to indicate to their earlier conversation.

“Oh right, yeah the uh, yeah,” clarified Larry.

“Right, that,” said Cliff.

Larry saw Rita in the background mouth, “ _Men,”_ once more at no one in particular and walk away.

“It’s cool, I get it. No more-”

“NO! I mean, no it’s fine, I don’t mind. I...thank you. For doing that.”

He was also thankful no one could see his slight blush at blurting out.

They looked at one another for a moment and Cliff shifted his head slightly. “Ok good. Good talk.”

Larry shifted and with a, “Oh right,” by Cliff, was awkwardly set back on his feet.

The men stood side by side and looked at the flames in silence for a few moments.

“I may be a bit rusty.”

He knew Cliff was talking about his skills as a mechanic, but he couldn’t resist the, “I think we’ve got some WD-40 in the garage.”

Cliff looked sideways at Larry. Larry looked back at Cliff; two blank faces trying not to crack.

“Touché, bandage breath.”

Larry didn’t believe in fairytales - that things magically righted themselves; enough had happened to him to leave him with that cardboard cutout of life. But as he watched the flames spread from the bus to the empty picnic table, the smell of burning lemons now in the air, he idly mused that, sure: Releasing the energy being had always hurt, and it was probably supposed to...

He looked at Cliff, swearing up a storm next to him.

...But no one said that, whenever the Negative Spirit decided to leave him, he couldn’t let a Positive Spirit rush in to take its place - just until he got back on his feet again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [kleptoandpyro.tumblr.com](https://kleptoandpyro.tumblr.com)
> 
> Interested in talking DCTV with other writers? Get involved in a DC community where we basically talk ships and fanworks and write fic all day long? Find beta readers and like minded folk?
> 
> Then join us in the [The Flarrowverse Shipyard Discord Server](https://discord.gg/D4RFsRq)! You've got nothing to lose, come get involved!


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